Daring to Choose Your Own Path, Having the Courage to Follow Your Passion
By Orlane Willems
It is often said that life is made of choices. For me, the greatest one was this: to continue on a demanding and passionate path in medicine, or to abandon that secure road for the burning uncertainty of music. Between the stability of a recognized career and the dazzling fragility of a dream, I chose the unexpected.
Yet nothing in my upbringing pointed me toward either of these worlds. I grew up in a modest family, where making it to the end of the month was always a struggle. My parents, who separated early on, always did their best to provide me with the essentials. From a young age, I learned that nothing is handed to you: everything must be earned with work and perseverance.
That is how I began to dream of becoming a doctor, a dream that at the time seemed out of reach. I came from a small village school, far from Brussels and the big institutions. In my mind, medicine was reserved for the children of the elite, those who already had one foot in that world thanks to their family.
I had neither wealth nor connections.
So, I told myself it might be more sensible to dream of becoming a physiotherapist or a nurse, since those paths seemed more realistic and attainable.
It was my mother who changed my trajectory. One day, she looked at me and asked: “When you think about your future, what do you really want to be?” I answered, almost shyly: “A doctor.” Then she said, simply but decisively: “In that case, you will study medicine. Period.” That was the click.
From then on, I gave myself completely to my studies. In my first year, I went out at night only twice. I studied day and night, obsessed with the idea of not failing. I promised myself I would not fail a single course, because I knew my parents could not afford extra expenses. I kept reminding myself that my dedication would eventually open doors. Six years later, diploma in hand, I had kept my promise.
Yet amid classes, internships, and hospital shifts, another flame burned inside me: music. It had always been my refuge. After classes, I would strum a few chords, practice my voice, write my own songs.
It all began when I was a child. At a small school concert, I saw a boy playing piano. I turned to my mother and said: “I want to do that.” She enrolled me in solfège and piano lessons. I discovered a universe that fascinated me from the first notes. Later, I learned guitar and started singing. In my bedroom, I would invent scenes, create imaginary concerts: I was both the artist and the audience.
One day, during lockdown, I posted some videos on Instagram. I expected nothing, I just wanted to share. That was when, by chance, The Voice Belgique discovered me.
And suddenly, everything started to happen: the auditions, the judges’ praise, joining Loïc Nottet’s team. At the same time, I was doing a gynecology internship. My days were a whirlwind: hospital in the morning, TV studio at night. For nine months, I balanced these two worlds with an energy I didn’t even know I had.
I reached the final and, paradoxically, I am grateful I didn’t win. That forced me to build my own path, seek out my own contacts, form my own team. From that period was born my first EP: a mini-album of seven songs that I named Prisme. Each song had its own color, a reflection of my synesthesia, that mysterious link that makes me see sounds as shades of color.
When I finished my studies, the choice became inevitable: on one side, medicine; on the other, music.
I made the hardest decision of my life: to give up comfort and stability in order to follow my passion. “The diploma is valid for life,” I kept telling myself. “But I only have one youth to try to live off my music,” I added.
My parents understood, and we made a pact: I would never again ask them for money. They had already given me so much. I took on small jobs to pay rent and buy food, while continuing to write, compose, and connect with other musicians.
Little by little, I began to reap the fruits of my work. I found a label in Paris, gave my first big concerts, signed up to do a tour. I learned saxophone, enriching my musical palette even further. This year, I was nominated for the NRJ Music Awards as Belgian Revelation. Soon, I will be heading to Japan to represent my country at the World Expo in Osaka.
Today, I live in my own apartment, paid for by my music. My songs play on the radio. I think back to the little girl who invented concerts in her bedroom, and I want to tell her: “You were right to believe.”
I am aware of my privileges, as a white European woman. I know these characteristics have given me advantages many others don’t have, clear head starts compared to other people. But I also know that none of this would have been possible without my passion, my work, and the unconditional support of my parents.
If I share my story, it is to show that you can come from a small village and still find your place in worlds that seem reserved for others; that it is possible to leave security behind and follow your intuition; and that a childhood dream can, in fact, become reality. I was courageous, and I will continue to be.
“It is possible to leave security behind and follow your intuition... a childhood dream can, in fact, become reality.”
This story is reproduced from the published book "Voices Without Borders: Women’s Stories of Courage and Resilience", edited and published by the Angolan publishing house É Sobre Nós Editora, and sponsored by the Africa-Europe Foundation.
